Scenes From Domina Island
Being a concise collection of further curious scenes from everyday life on Domina Island – the quaint and arcane, northern land of The Righteous.
Scene 1 – A Convicted Criminal
23 year old, plump and comely maiden, mistress Florence, was in seventh heaven – or, rather, in her father’s dungeon, gloating over the slave who was confined in her father’s wooden stocks, awaiting the punishment of flogging on the morrow.
His crime? Accidentally breaking miss Florence’s shoelace whilst endeavouring to tie the knot on her right, black leather, flat-heeled shoe.
Florence was particularly pleased as she had known all along the frayed lace was about to break, but she had steadfastly refused to allow her personal footslave to replace it, despite his protestations and entreaties to be allowed to do so – and now he would suffer the consequences of her selfish actions.
She had brought some sustenance with her down to the dungeon, for she hungered and thirsted and considered that she may need some food and drink to fortify her as she teased and tormented the hapless, soon-to-be-whipped footservant.
She moved to stand directly in front of him as his head hung heavily in its wooden bondage just inches off the dirty floor of the dank and dingy, dungeon cell:
‘Ha! Ha! How be thy neck, vile and lowly slave? Doth it burden thee somewhat under the weight of thy wooden window? Ha! Ha!’
Slave Beelzebub, as his young mistress had unchristened him, recognised not only the mocking, female voice, but the fat ankles; the black, lace up shoes; and the white, ruffled anklesocks of his maidenly, blonde-haired, white-sockser mistress, beneath the familiarly musty-smelling hem of her ubiquitous navy-blue, ankle-length dress. He was pleased to see her – glad of the company in this dismal place; and glad to observe the repair to her right shoelace:
‘O pray mistress. God bless thee mistress Florence, this slave doth indeed suffer mightily in thy father’s stocks, should it be so pleasing to thee most esteemed and revered mistress Florence?’
Mistress Florence smiles to herself – a smug, supercilious smile; the smile of one who glories in another’s misfortune, all the more so since she is the witting authoress of said misfortune. She uncaringly adjusts her white bonnet around her pretty, blonde locks, before disdainfully stretching forth her podgy, right foot in the dust beneath the criminal-slave’s confined face:
‘Kiss thee my foot – the foot of thy mistress and better, thou dirty underling!’
Slave Beelzebub tries his foot-level best to lower his neck and face to the dumpy, outstretched girlfoot, but the strictures of his wooden prison, coupled with the stiffness in his neck muscles (for he has already been confined in the stocks for some six hours) prevents his lips from reaching the dusty toe of his beloved mistress’s scuffmarked, rounded shoe-toe.
He is distressed at his failure to kiss the feet of a better, and sobs.
Miss Florence laughs at his distress and anxiety:
‘Ha! Ha! What be the problem, fool? Art thou too stiff to execute thy maiden-mistress’s holy orders? Ha! Ha! But surely thou cannotst desire yet more stripes of my father’s rod on thy scrawny back to add to thy shameful smart on the morrow?’
Slave Beelzebub most certainly does not wish to have further lashes added to his impending flogging, and begs the maidenly mistress Florence for her sweet, feminine mercy:
‘O pray to thee, fair mistress! O beg! Pray have pity on this foolish slave, who desireth nothing more than to pay homage to thy maidenly foot. O pray, mistress, the slave spirit is willing, but the slave flesh is weak! Pray facilitate me in my humble task by raising thy celestial foot just some inches off the ground that I may worship it, if it would be so pleasing to thee most divine mistress Florence?’
His mistress Florence laughs, and drinks some water from her flagon – aware, but unconcerned, by the slave’s own thirst after righteousness:
‘Ha! Ha! But sir, I fear that thou wouldst do more damage to my shoe were I to place it onto thy devilish face. Hast thou not already defiled it by vandalizing the shoelace?’ she mocks.
But refreshed by her water, she seemingly takes pity on the male wretch detained beneath her, and offers him hope:
‘Ha! Ha! Nevertheless I am a goodly and kindly mistress, who seeketh only that thou repentest of thy crime. Thou mayest ignore the shoe, and kiss the sock – for the sock is that much closer to thy face, footslave-transgressor!’
Slave Beelzebub breathes a sigh of relief; he can reach the sock – especially since its frilly, white top is but an inch or so from his bowed-low forehead. The benevolent and merciful mistress Florence even twists her undainty, right foot to one side to better afford his lips access to the ruffled top of her frilly, white sock.
The imprisoned slave kisses it, and blesses it, as befits a disciplined disciple of young-womanly socks:
‘O pray, sweet mistress! O bless! God bless thy mercy and compassion towards a miscreant-slave! Truly thy goodness and mercy are boundless towards thy humble sock-servant, good lady Florence!’
The good lady Florence is now tucking into some tasty victuals as she listens to the slave’s heartfelt exultation of her feminine qualities. She then licks her fingers and languorously stretches forth her left foot for similar, footslavish recompense and attention:
‘Have I not two socks that require thy pitiful homage, villainous slave?’
Slave Beelzebub duly kisses the lacy, white frill atop her sinister, left sock.
She giggles with pride, her free-woman mouth and lips tasting sweetmeats, whilst he sobs with shame, his slave-male lips tasting sock:
‘Ha! Ha! Think not that such displays of belated contrition shall spare thy back from the rod, devilish slave. Thou art a wretched sinner, and thy flesh must be chastened for thy monstrous crime. I shall glory in thy pain and repentance at my father’s hand. My father’s rods are being soaked overnight in brine to increase their smart! Ha! Ha! Meantime thou must rest, for thy suffering shall doubtless be great when we next meet on the morrow! My father hath promised me that I may watch thy fustigation, so that I may derive lubricious pleasure from thy writhing and thy wretchedness. Ha! Ha! Farewell, sinner-slave. Soon thou shalt know again the fires of hell on thine errant back! Ha! Ha! Thou art well and truly pussy-whipped!’
Even a chaste and virginal, 23 year old, Righteous maiden can be vulgar and crude of language and deportment when it so pleases her, and when she has the requisite permission from her elders!
The said libidinous maiden then withdraws her soft, comforting, lacy-white anklesock-top from the miscreant’s face, and exits the dungeon – as only she is free to do.
Miss Florence slept soundly in her single bed that night – her belly full of sweetmeats, and with pleasant dreams of her slave writhing under the whip.
Slave Beelzebub could not sleep, as he hungered and thirsted only after righteousness; and besides, he had no lacy-white sock pillow on which to rest his weary head!
Scene 2 – A Hardworking Harvester
As ye sow, so shall ye reap!
Harvest is always a busy time of the year for everyone in the village – but especially for the ungodly slaves.
The saved, freemen-farmers contribute to the bringing in of the sheaves, of course – particularly in their transportation to market on the mainland. But it is the role of the Righteous women, be they married or unmarried, which is most intriguing – as they must supervise the hard labour of the male slaves, who are, temporarily, removed from their normal footslave-duties during daytime hours to help harvest the cornfields. It is backbreaking work for a normally foot-cosseted slave – especially when conducted under the watchful eye of a puritanical and godly, young woman with a whip!
Slave Thomas, an apostate and doubter, is one such ungodly slave – cowered and beaten in a field owned by his master Jeremiah and mistress Naomi. But it is the mistress who so diligently supervises his work from her veranda.
Like so many of the most pious and abstemious Righteous women, mistress Naomi is tall and thin, but strong of whipping arm. Being in her early thirties, she wears the traditional, black, ankle-length dress; plain white pinafore; plain white bonnet; and black, woolly tights with flat, black, loafers of a married domina.
But even though she is happily married, and her every wifely need is met by her beloved husband, master Jeremiah, the mistress Naomi is a notoriously cruel and thin-lipped, young woman, who likes nothing better than to beat a slave. Hence, no matter how hard he toils in the field, slave Thomas is never going to be without a striped back.
He is, nonetheless, glad to be labouring outside in the fresh air, for it is one of the few times of the year (other than his regular trips accompanying his bonneted mistress to church) when a personal footslave may be seen in public. Ordinarily he will be hidden away beneath his mistress’s modest, long-sleeved, long-hemmed dress, so lowly and shameful is his status – the slave of a woman; a traitor to the male species in the eyes of free and godly men!
He is, as per usual, working hard in the cornfield, gathering up the hardy, genetically modified corn crops which flourish despite the cold in this northern clime – but his mistress Naomi is not happy with his efforts. She pulls a shawl over her shoulders (for there is a distinctly Autumnal chill in the air), grabs hold of her husband’s single-tailed, black leather slave-whip, and leaves the sanctity and comfort of her veranda to make her way across the muddy field to where her lazy and indolent, semi-naked slave is on his hands and knees, supposedly toiling for the good of his free betters!
The slave Thomas quickens the pace of his corn-gathering as he sees approaching the familiar black, penny loafers and black woollen tights beneath the anklelength, black, dress hem of his whip-happy mistress:
‘WRETCH – WHY ART THOU SLACKING IN MY HUSBAND’S FIELD? HAST THOU NOT ENOUGH WORK TO DO?’ she screams in an unholy racket.
Swish…Crack!
The tail of the whip snakes out across slave Thomas’s kneeling back, biting him most cruelly below his left armpit.
The unmanly, bare-backed slave lets out a pitiful wail:
‘Aooww…O pray, mistress! Pray have mercy on a poor slave, mistress Naomi! Truly this slave feareth the wrath of thy Righteous whip!’
Fear it or not, he soon feeleth it again!
Swish…Crack!
‘Aooww…the pain, mistress! Pray desist from the imposition of such strident agony on thy poor, wretched slave’s back!’
His eloquent plea falls on deaf, white-bonneted ears:
Swish…Crack!
‘THOU SLACKEST, THEREFORE THOU ART WHIPPED, SLAVE! THY FATE IS IN THINE OWN, INDOLENT HANDS!’
‘Aooww….O pray mistress! O pray! Sweet heavens of mercy, mistress!’
The mention of heaven’s mercy temporarily placates the mistress Naomi; for she is reminded of the happy State of female paradise in which she now resides – the Righteous Gynarchy on the Island of Domina, where only her husband is her lord and master. This whipped, male wretch at her feet is but her miserable foot-servant – hers to do with as she pleases.
And it pleases her to abuse him.
Speaking of her feet, she now notices that her black, penny loafers are mud-stained from her taskmistressly walk across the field. Temporary fieldhand or no, she will have this wretched slave unsully her Righteous, feminine footwear with his impudent tongue:
‘Dog, get thee thy lips onto my shoe, and divest it of its unwholesome filth!’
She curls up her whip in her fair hands, and stretches forth her right foot into the mud beneath the pain-racked face of the cowardly manservant. Slave Thomas immediately crawls forward through the dirt to loosen his mistress’s shoe-mud with his tongue.
Great globules of mud come off the shoe and into his mouth, but though the muck be bitter, the slave is not – for this is the shoe-muck of his female master and better, the good and saintly, lady Naomi.
He admires the shapeliness of her married-woman anklebone beneath its chaste covering of black, woollen stocking, though, perchance unbeknown to the mistress, a tiny hole is developing on the surface of the stocking through which the slave is now afforded a most unmerited glimpse of bare, white, female footflesh! Flesh he last touched whilst humbly bathing his mistress’s dirty feet some two weeks before!
But the corn-slave has no time to stop and admire forbidden foot; there is mud to be licked, and corn to be gathered; and a female whip hovering just inches above his already smarting back – ready to strike again.
At least he is not chained up to the dreaded grist-mill back in the village, trapped under the watchful and vengeful whip of one of the younger and more impulsive, Righteous milleresses!
Scene 3 – A Humble Prayer
It’s the Sabbath, and the slave must humbly pray to his goddess-mistress – pray for her mercy; for the abstinence of her whip; for the judicious application of her whip; for correction; for forgiveness – and, of course, in order to praise and bless her for taking him under her hemline!
Here is one such humble, maleslave prayer, being recited by an unnamed, unbaptised footslave towards his white-bonneted, soberly dressed, Righteous domina-mistress Rebecca, whilst he cowers in fear and trembling on his hands and knees before her black-stockinged and black-penny-loafered feet:
‘O Righteous Domina-Mistress Rebecca, who art mine infinite better,
blessed be thy beauteous female name.
May thy female rod and whip perpetually correct me,
and instruct me in the ways of maleslave obedience.
May thy holy lash descend with alacrity and venom upon my back,
for thy sweet feminine will must be done, in thy female workplace,
as it is in thy female household.
For thou art the Female, the Power and the Glory!
Pray forgive my maleslave trespasses against womanhood, sweet mistress,
as thou directest thy Righteous, female wrath judiciously against me.
For I am thy humble foot-servant,
who licketh thy shoe,
for ever and ever,
Awomen!’
True to his humble words, the slave then licks his goddess’s plain, black, penny loafer shoe, for ever and ever – or leastways, until she gives him her female permission to stop!
Scene 4 - A Penitent Churchgoer
Church plays an important role in the lives of the citizens, and slaves, of Domina Island – and not just on the Sabbath. Three times a week the faithful are called to prayer and devotion.
Decorum and propriety dictates, quite rightly, that the women should sit separately from their menfolk, at the back of the church. Separate, that is, from their freeborn-menfolk, for their slave-menfolk – their personal footservants – are, on the contrary, required to kneel in the back pews directly beside their superior mistresses’ feet. Being mere animals, their maleness does not count.
One particular ‘dumbass-slave’, as he has been amusingly christened by his pious mistress, is doing just that – kneeling in the pew with his head humbly bowed over his 22 year old maiden-mistress Wilhelmina’s shiny, black, lace-up shoes, and pure, white anklesocks, even though he is an apostate, a non-believer, an affront to godliness and, indeed, to manliness, in this holy place.
His mistress’s shoes are shining because the ungodly slave has been diligently tongueshining them for several hours prior to the church service; and her socks appear pure and white because the slave has both mouthwashed and handwashed the young woman’s footgarments to match her puritan-white bonnet so that they complement her smart, navy-blue, Sunday-best, anklelength, maidenly dress.
He now admires his footwear-handiwork at close, kneeling quarters as the fire and brimstone sermon is delivered by the elderly pastor in the pulpit – salvation for the Righteous; hell and damnation for the sinner-slave!
A foretaste of that hell awaits the dumbass-slave today, for his beloved mistress Wilhelmina has confessed publicly to her sins. She has been having illicit, premarital intercourse with young master Luke – a free man of the parish, and her betrothed! Because she has repented, she shall be forgiven – but her slave must still vicariously face the wrath of the Righteous.
Immediately following the sermon, the pastor asks the usual question:
‘Who bringeth a sinner-slave to be punished?’
‘I do,’ pipes up mistress Wilhelmina, rising to her feet and thereby causing her white anklesocks to crease and fold in several places in front of her kneeling footslave’s face.
She then walks down the aisle of the church towards the sacrificial altar – leading her slave on his hands and knees behind her shoes and socks by means of a metal chain around his neck, like a lamb to the slaughter.
The congregation of free persons spit and hiss at the crawling slave, whilst looking favourably on the soon-to-be-cleansed soul of the attractive, if somewhat tall and gangly, bespectacled, young woman.
At the altar she presses her slave’s head down onto the floor with the dusty sole of her flat, black leather shoe, and implores the pastor to punish the slave for her sins:
‘O pray, father, wilt thou do me the honour of chastising my dumbass-slave, for he hath violated my purity and sanctity through his most wilful negligence in failing to shield me from my unseemly lusts, and those of my betrothed!’
The pastor places a reassuring hand on the young woman’s white-bonneted head, and addresses the assembled congregation of the Righteous seated behind her:
‘What say ye, good folk of the Island? Shall we have just cause to employ the whip on this wretched, male slave, who hath so wantonly neglected his duty to prize and protect the virtue of his white-sockser mistress from the forces of the devil?’
‘Aye – whip him! Whip the cur! Scourge him of his iniquity! Mark out his sin! Bring forth the whip!’ cry out several voices, male and female, from amidst the congregation – the loudest voice being that of the young, bearded man who had himself, not long ago, been the unwitting instrument of the devil!
From his lowly vantage point beneath the dirt of his mistress Wilhelmina’s sole, the dumbass-slave observes a white-bonneted, female church warden ceremoniously approach the altar with the punitive whip – a nine-tailed scourge of twisted, brown leather strands. She hands it, lovingly, to the wrathful pastor who, in turn, holds it up for the congregation to see and admire:
‘Behold the whip of Righteousness!’ declares the pastor.
He then reaches up to whisper sweet nothings in miss Wilhelmina’s ear, for the girl is indeed tall and lithesome:
‘Go, fair maiden, and sin no more!’
Miss Wilhelmina smiles coquettishly at the understanding and forgiving pastor, before handing her footslave’s chain over to the female warden, and then showing the slave a clean pair of flat, leather heels as she joyfully returns to her seat at the back of the church, free to sin again. Her heels and soles are now cleansed because she has left the marks of her dirt and filth on the footslave’s head at the altar.
The church wardress now positions the dirtied slave over the whipping bench-cum-altar at the front of the church, and an expectant hush descends over the Righteous congregation. As the pastor rolls up his sleeves and moves to stand behind the semi-naked penitent with the cruel, multithonged, brown leather whip readied for action, the dumbass-slave tries to focus on the open-toed, flat-heeled, strappy brown leather, Moses-sandals and bobbled, black-woollen tights of the church-warden domina standing directly in front of him.
Her reinforced, woollen-stockinged toes wriggle pleasurably inside her holier-than-thou sandals with every blow of the whip – a wriggling born out of frustrated, middle-aged-womanly pleasure at the sight and sound of male suffering, not out of sympathy for the devil in front of her who is receiving his just deserts!
After the whipping, the sound of the congregation’s rousing and cheerful hymns, giving thanks for the righteous punishment they have just been privileged to witness, cannot drown out the moans of lingering pain emanating from the chastened and sore footslave newly positioned beside his female accuser’s, toe-tapping feet.
Meanwhile the owner of those pretty, black and white shod feet, Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina, winks and smiles flirtatiously across the segregated pews from inside her bonnet at her erstwhile beau, the bearded young master Luke, who returns the compliment.
Here Endeth The Lesson
